Journey to Haradum  Part 2
by Santikaloz
Summary: Kundos' trip across the mysterious sands of Near Harad continues as our hero of Gondor remembers a fragment of his past life... and reveals his own motives that drive his journey. Rated T.


_This is a direct continuation of my first story (Journey to Haradum)_

"_You are but a cunning device of my will..._" rasped the sizzling voice of fire. "_She lies trapped by the men in the dunes...enslaved...tortured..._" the comprehensible words retreated into a hellish siss that drove through his head like a well-honed dagger...

In cold sweat Kundos awoke. He grasped the blankets that had been thrown over him by Fiarad's troop. The beast beneath him, the monstrous mumakil called Guthunu, kept roaming through the desert. It was dark, and a bright full moon illuminated the unending expanse of dry land. Indeed a great wind had picked up and eddies of dust swirled and curled about the mumakil's ankles far below. She seemed to be a ship sailing through stormy waters. Around him the men slept, oblivious to the wind, and some even slept sitting or leaning across the wooden fence of the immense saddle.

But his thoughts were driven back to the remnants of the nightmare.

He had not seen or felt anything, only heard. The voice was something he was familiar with. It had been a recurring horror that had awoken him many nights, even when he slept soundly in Gondor. It had been the cause of many trips to the great library of the White City, but nothing spoke of such a voice. None of the scholars had heard of the like.

But he did remember an encounter that had happened before he had walked into Near Harad, an event that had uncovered more questions and answered none. As he slowly shifted back into sleep, his dreams veered into the past and he remembered the strange confrontation.

Kundos strode silently down the banks of the great Anduin. Part of his sleepy awareness was focused on the random patterns of sunlight streaked across the ground, interrupted by the green leaves and branches of the trees above. The other part listened to the rippling and rushing of water and the distant roar of the Falls of Rauros, less than a mile behind him. Such explosive manifestation of the peaceful river he had known since childhood calmed his senses and left him alone with his mind. This day, as he gazed upon the clamor of the falls, he had thought on the weight set on his shoulders by the Steward of Gondor. That such an errand be set upon him without previous warning had left Kundos wordless in front of his ruler. But he did not have a choice anymore. The nightmares urged him to accept his duty.

The voice, the flaming voice that spoke of her in his repeating dreams, had taken away his choice. Many times he had considered the impossiblity of what the voice said, of Niera captured by the strange men of Harad. After all, he was almost sure he had seen her die. But these were not mere dreams. They had such lucidity, such evil honesty, that he was forced to accept them. Accept them, and carry them out. And he did not believe that fate, by itself, had tied the deed the Steward had given him with his nightmares. There was greater force at play.

He had felt desperate, caught in a maelstrom of great events, trapped like a stringless puppet in the circling chaos. And now, suddenly, something had grasped his strings, and he did not know the nature of this new being. As he made his way back to Minas Tirith, he heard a cough coming from the woods to his right. He turned and saw a bent figure clad in grey garments. Kundos clutched his sword, but relaxed when the man looked up and revealed an aged face with a long beared that reached his waist. Atop his head sat a blue hat. For a moment both men stood still, looking at each other. Kundos had released the handle of his sword. There was something about the old man that spoke of admiration and respect. His eyes displayed profound wisdom, and despite his bent complexity, Kundos was sure the man was taller than him.

He spoke then with a deep and clear voice not akin to his image. "Traveller of the White City, I bow before you," and indeed he bowed, although Kundos felt that this man should bow to none. There was a hint of mockery now in the old man's smile.

"It is my pleasure, honorable elder," Kundos replied. "If you don't mind me asking... why are you treading the shores of the Great River?"

"I walk on behalf of a long journey," said the old man. Kundos saw that he picked his words quickly but carefully. "And Anduin has always made my journies seem less broad."

"It_ does_ have a peaceful presence, especially in such times," said Kundos, and the old man nodded.

Gandalf was now sure this was the Kundos he was meant to seek out. His visions, then, had not failed him. The ancient spell still kept true to his will. The wizard smiled and decided it was finally the time to drop his mask and reveal himself.

"Alas, Kundos of Gondor, you may not know me but I know you, and I know about the voice... you need not worry, for I am not a spy of the Dark Lord, quiet the contrary, and I have come to you now with a word of caution: there are many devious ways through which Sauron of Mordor corrupts the honorable, and not always by war that he makes his way across the land. I am afraid I cannot help you further, for I am indeed trapped in a whirlwind of chaotic events." Gandalf smiled and began to walk in the direction opposite to Kundos' destination. "I plea again that you be cautious when the time comes to tread the unknown..." and so, Gandalf the Grey made his way into the woods again and was lost from sight.

Kundos stood still and staring. Even when the misterious old man had dissapeared, he continued to look in his direction. A whirlind of chaotic events. He smiled. The old man seemed to have read his thoughts. And to be cautious when the time came to tread the unknown... such a remark fit perfectly with his upcoming journey, like the last piece of a confusing puzzle had now been set, and the image, once a complicated array of colors, revealed itself at last.


End file.
